


i forget where we were

by skepticnarcoleptic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-SBurb AU, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:01:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepticnarcoleptic/pseuds/skepticnarcoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky opens its mouth and eats you raw; swallows you whole past its pale blue palate and into eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cold mornings are your favorite. The mist settles just so, blanketing itself over the city's never-ending rows of eaves and black tar roofs while the sun spills itself through the milky clouds and over the horizon. There's no need for a caffeine rush when the bite of the wind can make you feel so inherently awake, buzzing all the way down to your bones. The sidewalk beneath the soles of your shoes is grounding, but your head was never in the clouds to begin with.   
  
As your heart pounds its steady beat in your ears, the thick smell of the salty sea rushes up to meet you like an old friend. Behind your eyelids, waves crash against the bare steel skeleton of a lone skyscraper. It's just a wisp, but you cling to it, until the mass of bodies around you rushes forward. You blink, barely noting the green crossing light before you follow the crowd into the street, the memory lost.  
  
Your name is Dirk Strider, and you are alive.


	2. Chapter 2

He introduces himself as Jake English-and-my-favorite-color-is-actually-blue. You can only suppose that he'd be so defensive because the color of his sweater matches the striking emeralds that are his eyes. It'd be too easy and shallow of an assumption to say that it was his favorite. He must get asked often.   
  
This registers as the logical sort of explanation in your head, and, with a grin, you ask him why he didn't just don something blue instead.  
  
"Why, because my gramma made me this," is his simple reply, like it's the most obvious thing. He curls his fingers into the thick hem of it. The smile doesn't leave his face.  
  
Peculiar Jake English; with his lilting accent and his green sweater and his too-big front teeth.  
  
At a loss for anything substantial to say, you nod and return your attention to your notebook, trying to ignore the flush that crawls up your neck when you feel him watching you throughout the rest of the literature lecture.

**Author's Note:**

> hello, love, my invincible friend


End file.
